


To Be So Alone

by geniusbillionairegayboy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Psychosis, Season 3, psychotic character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusbillionairegayboy/pseuds/geniusbillionairegayboy
Summary: A slight rewrite of the beginning of Season 3, in which Jon falls much harder than he's ever fallen before.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	To Be So Alone

Jon made a choice and woke up with perfect clarity. He’d later learn that what he was experiencing wasn’t even in the same ballpark as the level of knowledge he would possess not so far in the future, though that didn’t make the first wave any less jarring. For the first few moments of consciousness all he’d been able to do was lay there, hearing Basira and Georgie talking miles away as he was barraged by an ocean of information. His head felt moments away from shattering as he clung to reality just enough to make out their conversation and hoarsely contributed, “That’s a very good question.”

Basira had nearly jumped out of her skin when her long-comatose coworker -  _ friend _ \- suddenly spoke but once the initial shock faded, they easily settled into a comfortable rapport. And already Jon found his least favourite part of the change. Though he loathed to admit it, Georgie had apparently been right when she pestered him for never seeming to realise that hanging out with someone frequently and enjoying their company was indeed enough to call someone a friend, despite his complete conviction in that none of his so-called friends really liked him all that much. What she called paranoia he called rationality, but even he couldn’t deny that his argument fell through when internally dismissing his friend’s affection was immediately followed by the Knowledge that they really did love him. It was as comforting as it was horribly intrusive. In the name of controlling the looming tsunami of Knowledge, Jon endeavoured not to think too hard for the rest of his conversation with Basira and Georgie. 

This was, predictably, easier said than done. Basira’s “Is it still… you?” triggered an uncomfortable twinge which spiked into something akin to a migraine when he mindlessly asked about Tim’s wellbeing. He Knew the pain of death before he remembered the explosion. He felt the agony of being torn apart alongside the sadistic glee of long-awaited revenge, even the budding forgiveness that Tim tried to suppress and Jon, because it seemed the polite thing to do, chose to ignore.

Letting himself off the hook that easily would be an insult to Tim’s memory.

The statement helped. It was good to know that the roar of information wasn’t going to be constant; it had only come as a result of starvation and as long as he kept himself fed, he could stave it off. Without ample distraction he could still feel it weighing on his mind, sure, but at least he knew it was manageable.

It was still a battle to keep it in check as he tried to listen to Basira’s answers as to what he’d missed. He had a horrible feeling that he could just check the growing encyclopaedia in his head if he wanted - it wasn’t that simple, he learned later - but listening to her explain was better for more than just avoiding his inhumanity. Hearing her voice was a comfort even with the horrible subject matter, and Jon was just too far past fragile to deprive himself of it. Perhaps that was why he let his guard down. Perhaps that was why he demanded to know what Elias had done and then Knew.

“Jon listens to all of them,” Elias said, and Jon felt a thousand unseen eyes on him. When Martin made a quip about his ‘feelings for Jon’, he exploded under their gaze. As if he could sense Jon watching, Elias chose that moment to remind Martin of the way Jon treated him, which served as the final nail in Jon’s coffin. In all fairness, there probably wasn’t a  _ good _ way to realise you’d spent the last few years treating the man who loves you ‘very badly’, but Jon was also quite sure there was a worst way and that he was experiencing it. His saving grace was what quickly overshadowed it - the knowledge that he loved Martin back. They were in love, just too thick to realise it. He didn’t need the wave pushing at his skull to tell him that because it was just obvious, an easy conclusion to come to given the overwhelming evidence. It pressed so heavy on his mind that he almost asked for Basira’s phone so he could let Martin know right away, Peter Lukas be damned, but a moment’s contemplation reminded him that that was the type of thing best said in person. The next moment added that he might want to think twice before professing his love to someone he hadn’t spoken to in six months. Nonsense. He’d viscerally felt the heavenly glow of Martin’s love thanks to his newfound monstrosity and if even a coal of that still burned, there was no reason not to tell him right away.

His death had made him reckless but Peter Lukas was happy to serve as intervention in place of Jon’s better judgement. Even once he was able to return to The Institute, finding Martin was easier said than done.

Foolishly, when Basira told him they hadn’t seen much of Martin, Jon assumed he was only keeping to himself and the others simply hadn’t tried very hard to correct that, a response they were entitled to given all that happened in his absence. He should’ve known better, really. Upon a complete lack of results, Jon’s first impulse was to go straight to the new boss and demand to speak to Martin, but that was just another impossible task in the end. Searching for Lukas was exponentially more frustrating than attempting to find a needle in a haystack, even with his new state of being. In fact, it wasn’t until he stopped looking for Martin that he found him.

He’d resigned himself to failure and was informing the tape recorder of his decision when that glow seeped through him.

_ Martin. _

He was up in a moment, statement forgotten and mind alight with excitement. For the first time since he woke up he felt properly alive, though he still doubted he could accurately be referred to as such, not that it mattered. Worries about his humanity faded away to sweet bliss as he burst into the hallway and finally saw Martin. He was so  _ big _ . The coma left Jon feeling smaller than ever, frail and defenseless, but Martin was so big and lovely and could protect Jon from all the things he knew were coming for him. He could introduce Jon to a type of safety he’d never even dreamt of. As soon as he saw him, he wanted to run to Martin and… and… something. Climb into his essence. Cling to him like an evaporating dream. Make himself at home in Martin’s skin. It was all Jon could do to say, “Martin…” and then, louder, “Martin!”

Finally, Martin turned around, and the split second of joy in his expression might’ve knocked Jon off his feet had it not immediately been replaced by a dull apathy. “Oh,” he said, like they were near strangers bumping into each other at the market. “Hi, Jon.” That wasn’t right.

Leaving his door ajar and eliminating the distance between them in a few quick strides, Jon said again, “Martin!” then realised it would do neither of them any good to keep yelling Martin’s name in his face. “I-it’s- I-I-” _ I missed you. I love you. Let’s run away together. _ “I haven’t seen you!” 

“Yeah, sorry.” They were inches apart and still nothing; not even a flicker of that initial jubilation in Martin’s expression. There was nothing behind his eyes, even. They hardly seemed to be seeing Jon at all, rather just… looking through him.

Still, Jon was determined. “W-What- Where have you been? I’ve been looking- I-I wanted to talk-”

What appeared on Martin’s face the moment he said that stopped Jon in his tracks even before the other man could actually interrupt. He hardly heard the dismissive response about being busy, too busy for Jon, as his mind was overrun by the utter contempt that the idea of talking to Jon apparently inspired in Martin. He could  _ feel _ it in ways he didn’t want to, in horribly invasive ways that he was sure Martin wouldn’t appreciate had he known. There was something else - some other emotion lingering under the surface - but to find it Jon would have to linger in Martin’s cold rejection and even just a brush with it was enough to tell him that that wasn’t something he wanted to do.

“Busy,” he mumbled, trying to reign in his hurt.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, not quite looking at him.

“Working for Lukas,” Jon continued, coldly, because it was easier to be angry at the man taking Martin from him than it was to acknowledge that that was happening. And the coward wouldn’t even make himself known.

The annoyance in Martin’s tone made it very hard to use his rage as an anchor. It was a tone perfectly concocted to tear Jon’s lifeline away and leave him floundering, alone at sea, threatened to be swallowed by the waves if he couldn’t compose himself. “Ah, n-no, Peter’s...” Martin corrected, then sighed with the exasperation of an adult explaining to a toddler something they couldn’t possibly hope to understand, “It’s complicated.”

Jon tried to speak, but nothing came out. He thought he might be drowning.

Whether because he was done with dealing with pests or because he’d been kind enough to take pity on Jon, Martin turned away and said, “Anyway, I should get back to-”

Jon’s hands found themselves in the sleeve of Martin’s jumper before he knew what he was doing and the lack of warmth there almost made him let go. He held on, though, making the distance between them that much smaller. “No! We- We need to talk; I-I need to tell you-”

With that same growing irritation, Martin interrupted, “Jon, I can’t-”

“Too bad! I’ve been waiting far too long and- and  _ you’ve _ been waiting far too long for me to put this off,” Jon told him, raising his voice in a way that usually made Martin flinch. A hot shame crept over him despite that, of course, Martin didn’t react that way this time. He continued, “I- I don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re acting like this, though I have a guess, but it doesn’t matter because I love you, Martin, and you love me too so you don’t get to keep avoiding everyone! You don’t get to keep avoiding  _ me _ . I-I need you and…” Martin wasn’t even looking at him. “I…” When he tore his arm away in a rough, jerking motion, Jon’s words left him completely, replaced with a hot static that crashed all around him. “Martin?” he asked, pathetically.

“I’ve really got to go,” said Martin, facing away from Jon. Was he that miserable? That repulsive? Martin couldn’t even bear to look at him. 

Jon swallowed smoke. It seeped through his body, filled his lungs, consuming his very being with harsh ice. After it came the static that chased all his thoughts away, leaving room for only pain. “Oh,” he managed, “okay.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Somehow, even that sounded like an insult.

Martin was leaving, abandoning him at no faster a pace than he’d been traversing the halls at when Jon first noticed him passing. Had Jon taken too long to respond or did Martin simply not care for a response? “W-w-well,” Jon tried, all the forces crushing his insides making it difficult to talk, “it was good- it was good to see you.”

There was no answer.

Jon felt so very alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you think this fic is unnecessary and I shouldn't have written it, you're right and I agree. But I did anyway so here we are.
> 
> As per the "psychotic character" and "psychosis" tags, Jon is psychotic in this fic as he will be every time I write him, because I make the rules here. As far as symptoms go, this fic mainly touches on grandiosity as well as some tacticle hallucinations that aren't discussed in detail (the sensation of drowning, physically feeling static). I'm marking it "mature" mostly because of this.


End file.
